


Christmas Sugar

by Ralkana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Candy, Christmas, Developing Relationship, Feelstide, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:11:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What are you eating, Specialist?"</p><p>"Ribbon candy. Want some?"</p><p>"That's going to rot your teeth, Barton."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Feelstide. The prompt is at the bottom of the story for the benefit of those who do not wish to be spoiled.
> 
> Disclaimer ~ Marvel's toy, not mine. I'm just playing.

 

**2001**

It was nearly six months after Clint's recruitment into SHIELD, in late December, when Phil ran into his new asset in the corridors near the weapons range just before Phil's vacation was set to begin.

Barton grinned and gave him a jaunty half-wave, and Phil nodded back and then paused.

The man was humming. As he got closer, the quiet hum resolved itself into "We Wish You a Merry Christmas."

"Hi, sir," Barton said pleasantly, but his words were distorted.

Phil frowned. "What are you eating, Specialist?"

Loud crunching sounds filled the corridor as the younger man chewed and swallowed. "Ribbon candy," he answered, lifting a small plastic bag full of brightly colored candy. "Want some?"

Phil lifted an eyebrow. "That's going to rot your teeth, Barton."

Barton's happy expression faltered, just a little, and Phil regretted his glib words. Then, the younger man shrugged, his normal easy smile returning. "Well, part of your smooth-talking recruitment package was SHIELD's excellent dental insurance, sir. Guess I'll find out."

"You keep eating that, you're going to."

Barton waggled the bag at him so that the pieces of candy in it shifted against each other with quiet clicking sounds. "Sure you don't want one?"

"No, thank you."

"More for me! Merry Christmas, sir."

"Merry Christmas, Barton."

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

**2003**

This was not the way Phil expected to spend his Christmas.

"Stay with me, Barton. Clint. Wake up." Phil took a deep breath, well aware that his teeth were chattering. He was freezing on the cold concrete of the cell with only his shorts on and a thin blanket beneath him. His body ached where they'd worked him over, and they'd had Barton twice as long. Clint hadn't complained -- he never did -- but Phil could tell by the dullness in his eyes and the tight lines that bracketed them that he was in a lot of pain. He wrapped his limbs around his shivering, naked sniper, trying to share as much body heat as he could, but if they didn't get out of here soon, they were going to be in real trouble. "C-c'mon, Barton. Wake up."

"S-sir."

"Wake up. C'mon, it's your t-turn."

"Sir?"

Phil didn't know how much time he'd spent telling the younger man about the Christmases of his childhood, stories of fat turkeys for dinner, of cider and caroling, and sledding on pristine snow, of opening brightly wrapped presents and Midnight Mass with his grandparents. Stories Phil knew were as alien to his sniper as the bright and shiny holidays in the Christmas specials on TV, but they'd kept the younger man awake and aware.

"C'mon. Your turn. T-tell me a story, Barton."

"D-don't have m-many happy Christmas s-stories to share, s-sir."

Phil knew that much was true. In his two and a half years of working with Phil, Barton had never shared a single story of his youth, but it was more than clear from his file that his life had not been an easy one.

"N-nothing?" he prodded.

Barton shivered silently in his arms.

"Tell m-me about the c-candy I always see you eating at Christmas," he said, trying not to make it sound like an order.

Barton let out his breath in what might have been a weak laugh. "T-trust you to p-pick up on the o-one thing," he said ruefully.

"Y-you don't have to," Phil backtracked. "B-but talk t-to me. M-make something up, I d-don't care, but keep t-talking."

"R-reminds me of my grandmother," Barton murmured after a moment. "Sh-she died when I w-was six, about three m-months before m-my parents."

"I'm s-sorry, Barton. Clint. Y-you don't -- "

"N-no. It _is_ a good memory. M-maybe the only one. She always h-had it around her h-house at Christmas t-time, and it w-was my favorite. B-barney -- my brother -- h-he knew that, and h-he knew I l-liked the cherry ones b-best. S-so he'd knock m-me down before I could get to it and s-steal all the cherry ones. B-but Gramms always s-saw, and she used to p-pull me up into her l-lap, and she always h-had a whole little b-bowl of cherry ones, j-just for me." His words trailed off into nothing as his teeth chattered violently.

"B-barton. Clint. Clint! Wake up!"

"S-sorry, sir," he murmured, his words slurring alarmingly. "D-don't think I c-can..."

"Clint!"

Phil tried repeatedly to wake the younger man, but he was growing weak and sluggish himself. 

"D-damn it, Barton, w-wake up! S-swear t-to G-god, w-we get through th-this, I'm g-gonna buy you the b-biggest damn b-bag of ribbon c-candy I can f-find!"

After that, there was nothing until he was vaguely aware of hands pulling him from Barton.

"N-no," he muttered, limbs flailing as he reached for the other man.

"Agent Coulson, sir, please stop! We need to get you both to the Medevac, now, sir, and we can't do that when you're fighting us."

"S-sitwell? That y-you?"

"Yes, sir."

Over the younger agent's shoulder, he saw Hill directing several other agents to carry Clint out, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Think I c-can find a whole b-bag of cherry o-ones?"

"Sir?"

Sitwell's worried and confused face was the last thing he saw before darkness claimed him.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

**2006**

"I'm fine, Coulson," Clint snapped as soon as Phil came through the curtain into the medical bay. "Tell them to let me go."

"Frankly, Barton, I'm surprised you're still here." Phil studied him carefully. After five years of working with the man, he was getting very familiar with the medical wing.

"Yeah, well, I was informed that if I took off without being signed out one more time, my range access was in jeopardy," the younger man growled, glaring at Phil.

"SHIELD prefers its assets in top physical condition, Barton, you know that, and that isn't possible when they keep skipping medical checks and returning to the field before they're fully healed."

"It's just a sprain, sir. I keep telling them that. I'm fine."

"Yes, well, why don't we let the doctors determine that, hmm?" Phil answered mildly, but he pulled his surprise out of his pocket. He handed Clint a piece of red ribbon candy, a grin quirking his lips as Clint's eyes unmistakably lit up at the sight. "Behave during your checkup, and you can have the rest."

"I'm not five," the younger man muttered as he popped the candy into his mouth, but there was no denying he was much more compliant than usual during his post-mission checkup.

He was right, however, and the worst injury this time was an ankle sprain, which made this a truly successful mission. There were bruises and lacerations, but nothing that required physical therapy or stitches, and as Phil signed off on his release and helped him with his gear, Clint happily crunched on the remainder of his treat.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

**2008**

"Damn, it's hot," Clint observed for approximately the fiftieth time as he wandered in from the tiny backyard, pulling his t-shirt away from his sweat-soaked chest, and Phil barely resisted the urge to throw his laptop at the younger man's head. "How can they celebrate Christmas when it's a hundred and four degrees outside?"

"Because Christmas comes in December, Barton, and we are in the southern hemisphere."

"How long before we get the go, do you think?"

"I don't know," Phil bit out. "As soon as I know, you will."

The safe house was comfortable and well-stocked, and entirely too small to deal with a bored assassin who had been cooped up for several days. If they didn't get a green light soon, they were going to have to call this mission on account of homicide, because Phil was going to _kill_ Clint.

There was one foolproof way to shut him up. It was only the 23rd, and Phil had been saving it for Christmas, but at this rate, Clint would be dead by then.

He reached into his go bag and pulled out the small plastic bag.

"Here, Barton," he growled, tossing it at Clint, who caught it reflexively. "Put this in your mouth and shut up."

Clint stared down at the bag of candy, his eyes wide. "You had to get this in the States, which means you've been carrying this around for what, two weeks? Three?" he asked incredulously. "For me?"

Phil steadily held his gaze, though he could feel the heat in the tips of his ears. "You've been on mission after mission since early October," he said quietly. "I wanted to make sure you got some, because I don't know when we'll make it back to New York."

Clint's smile was his normal cocky grin, but his eyes were soft. "I could kiss you for this, sir," he said teasingly, but Phil had known him for far too long. There was hope and uncertainty twining through the flirty tone.

Phil took a deep breath. They'd been building toward this moment for months -- years, even. He could take it at face value, and they could keep coasting along, ignoring this thing between them, pretending they were nothing more than colleagues, or maybe friends. Or, he could stop being a coward and grab for what he wanted.

"I would... I would not be opposed to that," he murmured, and he watched as Clint sucked in a startled breath, tossing the candy aside as he lunged toward Phil.

By the time the go signal finally came on the 28th, they'd found plenty of new ways to amuse themselves, and Clint's candy was long gone.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

**2012**

"I don't care where or when it happens, as long as it happens," Clint said firmly when Phil asked him about possible wedding dates, and Phil was of the same mind. After the miracle of the second chance granted to them by Natasha's supremely effective cognitive recalibration and an incredibly complicated combination of SHIELD, Stark, and Asgardian medical technology, neither one of them wanted to waste any more time.

They finally decided on a late December date, and Clint had only one request.

When their guests filed in, each one found on their chair a tiny bag of cherry ribbon candy tied with a red and white striped bow.

And if the first kiss they shared as married men tasted of sugar and artificial cherry flavor, Phil wasn't going to complain, since it only made it that much sweeter.

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Feelstide Prompt #77: Someone's favorite thing in the entire world is Christmas ribbon candy.


End file.
